Being For The Benefit Of Mr Kite! (29 page)

How could a drink be said to be in or out? I looked over my shoulder. The stairs led up to one more floor, although from where I was standing I couldn't see what was up there. There were a couple of windows looking out onto the street.

I turned back to the door. I was opposite the Starbucks café at the entrance to the market where Starbucks had first begun, and there was a door with a list of Starbucks coffee drinks beside it. That seemed to make sense. It also made sense that the names of drinks indicated people. That they were codenames. Well, that made sense on some sort of level, but not on one of any reasonableness. Why on earth would people be given codenames of coffee drinks? The very nature of codenames implies some sort of secrecy, but I had been allowed to walk right in here without any hindrance whatsoever.

I looked at the board again. If they were people, they were all in except Espresso Con Panna.

I tried the door and again it was unlocked. I walked in.

It was a large, bright room, with no windows. A laboratory. Everything was white. The walls, the ceilings, the tiled floor, the benches.

There were twelve men in white lab coats working at the benches. Some in pairs, some on their own. Some sitting, some standing. At each station there was a series of cups laid out, some had a beaker of hot water. There were a few jars of ground coffee, there was milk, both hot and cold, there were spoons, at each table there was a spittoon, although some of them were holding the spittoon between their legs. At the rear of the room there were four coffee machines, as you might find at the back of any Starbucks, which presumably the men in white suits shared between themselves.

They drew me in. None of them noticed me, until I closed the door, then suddenly they all looked up. All activity stopped.

I looked around them, from one man to the next. When I started looking I didn't imagine going all round the crowd of twelve, but I had to. I looked at each one, and they in turn stared back at me.

They all looked the same. Every one of them. It was the same man, twelve times over. The hair was slightly different in some cases, although they each had an approximate variation of a short back and sides. A couple of them were wearing glasses. That aside, however, they were identical.

It felt very strange, and I was beginning to feel that I ought to say something. Yet at the same time I was not threatened by them. This innately threatening environment into which I'd so casually blundered was somehow not in the least intimidating.

'Where's Espresso Con Panna?' I asked eventually, when the need to speak became too much.

They stared at me in silence for a few moments, and then eleven of them, at precisely the same moment, bowed their heads and got back to work. The one nearest the door, who'd been working on his own over a small row of six cups, placed down his notepad and walked towards me with a raised eyebrow.

'Let's go grab a coffee,' he said.

He removed his white lab coat, revealing all-in-one white overalls beneath. He hung the lab coat precisely on a peg in the middle of a long row beside the door, then removed the overalls and placed them on the same peg. Beneath the overalls he was wearing blue jeans and a faded grey sweat top. The writing on it said
Property of The Seahawks
. He took the white covers from his shoes, placing them on the floor beneath where he'd hung the coat, then he opened the door and ushered me out ahead of him.

Outside he pushed a small wooden block from IN to OUT on the notice board. It appeared that I was going for coffee with Pike Place Roast.

––––––––

'I
assumed we'd go to Starbucks,' I said.

We were sitting in a small café further up Pike Street, having walked a couple of blocks from the laboratory. He'd ordered us both flat whites, without asking what I'd wanted.

'I can't go in there,' he said. 'Potential paradox.'

'What would happen?'

'Honestly,' he said, 'I don't know. But I wouldn't want to be there when it did.'

'Really?'

'It'd be bad. More than likely.'

He looked around the café, then took a sip of coffee.

'Of course,' he said, 'Starbucks owns this place as well, but it was a takeover so, you know, technically I'm all right coming in. Should be all right. If it looks like I'm starting to melt, some shit like that, you gotta get me the hell out of here.'

I nodded, even though I wasn't entirely sure what he was talking about.

'So, how'd you find our place?' he asked.

'I'm not sure,' I said. 'I just walked in.'

'Obviously you walked in. I mean, how d'you find the door? Most folks can't see it.'

'I don't know. It's just there, isn't it? A door in a wall on a busy street.'

'Sure, sure thing. And yet most folks can't see it. Did you see it the first time you looked?'

I shook my head.

'Exactamundo,' he said. 'Kinda weird, huh?'

I nodded and took another drink. I'd come for coffee because he'd asked me and it had been an obvious thing to do, but I was aware that I wasn't going to get answers from him. What could he tell me? I was looking for the Jigsaw Man. This guy, this Pike Place Roast, was not going to have any idea who the Jigsaw Man was, never mind where I might find him.

So what was it that had led me to that red door? Indeed, what had led me to Seattle to be sitting next to Jones for her to point out the red door in the first place? Not to mention all the other strange coincidences and peculiar little meetings that had taken me along the way.

'How exactly are you Pike Place Roast?' I asked.

Pike Place Roast is Starbuck's basic cup of black filter coffee, named, of course, after the market.

He shrugged. 'I don't know. I just am.'

'That's your name, or a codename? You were born Pike Place Roast?'

'Pretty much,' he said. 'I can't explain it if you don't understand.'

'What does that mean?'

He laughed lightly, almost as if we were equals, talking on the same wavelength.

'If I explain it to you, but you don't already understand, it'll be like someone looking at the red door. If you don't know it's there, you don't see it. If you don't understand, all you'll hear are words. They won't mean anything to you.'

'But I need you to explain it to me, then I'll understand,' I said, although I had to admit to myself that I understood him on this. I had to work it out for myself. It wasn't for him to explain. Indeed, it could have been that he was unable to explain.

He shrugged again, made a small gesture with his hands.

'Doesn't the fact that I could see the door mean that I have some innate understanding?' I asked.

'I thought so,' he said airily, 'but it turns out you don't. I mean, we came and sat down here and I was thinking that you were on the inside. Turns out you're not.'

I held his gaze for a moment, then leant forward and cupped my hands over my nose and mouth. Stared at nothing.

What did I have so far? The Jigsaw Man. The leap of faith from the plane. Jones. Interrogation. Agent Crosskill and his pal. Coffee. They were all linked, but it seemed like clues were piling on top of clues without any hint of resolution.

'What is it you're searching for?' he asked.

'The Jigsaw Man,' I said, without thinking, without actually engaging in the conversation.

'Hmm,' he said. 'Doesn't mean anything. A guy that does jigsaws, or some fella in a movie? You know, sorts shit out, puts the pieces together, that kinda shit.'

'Both,' I said.

'Cool,' said Pike Place Roast, then he took another drink of coffee.

He looked over his shoulder at the grey day outside, then glanced at the clock above the counter.

'Time marches ever forward,' he said.

'I need an answer first,' I said.

He smiled again, ruefully, shaking his head.

'Don't know what to say, son,' he said.

I don't think he could've been much older than me.

'Why am I here?' I asked. 'How did I find you?'

'You in coffee?'

'Yes. Manager of a small branch of Starbucks in England.'

'Nice. Always meant to go there.' He paused, tapped his spoon against the saucer. 'This Jigsaw Man, he any connection with coffee?'

'Used to run a small café in Glasgow.'

'Glasgow, Scotland?'

I nodded.

'A Starbucks?'

'No. It was called the Stand Alone.'

'Nice,' he said. 'Nice name for a café. Serve good coffee?'

'The best,' I said.

'And that's what made you want to run a café?'

I nodded again.

'Well, it all makes sense, son,' he said. 'You have a clear connection between you and the Jigsaw Man through coffee. Your livelihood is in coffee. It's obvious that when seeking answers in relation to this Jigsaw Man that they will come through coffee. That's why you're here. That's what's led you to us. But you still need to find those answers for yourself. You need to work out where else the answers will run through. I think, if you go over everything you've seen here today, you'll be able to work it out.'

My mind was already going over everything I'd seen here today, barely listening. And I already knew that my time in Seattle was up. Time to go back to the UK and work out what I should do next.

He recognised the look in my eyes, that I had glazed over, thinking ahead, making plans.

'Hey, look us up if you ever make it back here,' he said.

I looked up. He was already standing, his coffee finished. He held out his hand and I took it.

'Nice meeting you, son,' Pike Place Roast said, and left the building.

*

T
hey were waiting for me, parked on the street right outside the café. I wasn't in the mood for running, so I just got into the back of the car. Immediately Agent Crosskill drove off, as if he had somewhere to go. The woman was sitting in the back, not wearing a seatbelt. I buckled up.

'Who was that guy?' she asked.

'Pike Place Roast,' I said.

Crosskill grunted.

'What does that mean?' she asked.

'I don't know,' I replied. 'He said that was his name.'

'What were you talking about?'

'The Jigsaw Man.'

'He know where to find him?' barked Crosskill from the front.

'No,' I said.

The woman was staring at me, a look of suspicion on her face that wasn't usually there. Generally she had questioned me with an air of requirement, just doing what had to be done.

'Where'd you go before that café? We were watching you, and you just... disappeared. What was that? You crossed the road and then suddenly you were gone. Couldn't find you in any of the shops.'

'I went into his place,' I said.

'Where was that?'

'It was through a door in the building. It's not my fault if you lot took your eyes off the ball.'

Crosskill grunted.

'I don't like it,' said his partner.

I glanced at her and then looked out the window.

'Can you take me to my hotel, please?' I asked. 'I need to book a ticket back to the UK.'

'That where we'll find the Jigsaw Man?' she asked.

'Don't know,' I replied. 'I just want to go home.'

'You'd better not just be leading us to...' she began, then cut herself off. Crosskill glanced at her in the rear view. She caught his eyes and made a small acknowledging gesture of apology.

'Yeah?' I said. 'Where is it that you'll be disappointed if I take you?'

She didn't answer. I tried to catch Crosskill's eye in the mirror, but he wasn't looking.

'I can't even begin to imagine where that might be,' I said.

And then it just came into my head as though it'd been sitting there all this time, waiting for the right moment to come out. The opening guitar riff from "Sgt. Pepper", and then that first line.

What was exactly twenty years ago today? The last time I saw the Jigsaw Man at the Stand Alone? Maybe it was, but it didn't matter. What mattered was the song, and the album. That's where I needed to go. To
Sgt. Pepper
. The peculiarity of that, the thought of going to an album, barely lasted a second. If the album existed anywhere in space and time, then it would be at Abbey Road studios in London, where it was recorded. Where else could it be? They had never performed it in public; they hadn't gone off to the Caribbean or Africa to record any of the songs. If the essence of
Sgt. Pepper
existed anywhere, then it had to be Abbey Road. That's what I'd found out about the Jigsaw Man in Seattle. That's why I was here. Abbey Road. The Jigsaw Man putting pieces together. His part in
Sgt. Pepper
had gone beyond having the album sleeve artwork on his wall.

I'd have to think about how it tied in with Mr Pike Place Roast. There were still plenty of clues waiting to be placed in the jigsaw, but I'd have time to do that on the plane.

'Abbey Road?' I said smiling. 'I better not just be leading you to Abbey Road?'

I laughed. Agent Crosskill grunted.

––––––––

I
spent a last night in Seattle, booked on a plane to Chicago, for an onward connection to Heathrow, at 6am the following morning. I sat in the bar on the top floor of the hotel, looking out over the water and the forests on the other side.

I'd always thought Seattle was right on the Pacific coast. Isn't that strange? You can be completely ignorant about something all your life and it doesn't matter. Indeed, most people are probably ignorant about most things. Life still goes on.

I wondered if I should go and find Jones, but I had a vague feeling I'd be seeing her again anyway, without making any effort. Maybe not before I got back to the UK, however. Maybe not for another seventeen years. Suddenly it didn't seem to matter. I'd been affected by Mr Pike Place Roast and what he might mean and by the thought that at last I had some direction. The break with Jones was speeding up.

I had to go to Abbey Road. I had no idea what I was going to find there, other than a regular London street and the most famous pedestrian crossing in the world. I'd already looked on the website of Abbey Road studios, where they have a live webcam showing the crossing.